In Shining Armor
by keepcalmsmile
Summary: In which prophesies are both broken and fulfilled, secrets are revealed, and friends always, ALWAYS, keep their promises. Takes place at the end of season 5.
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N This story begins at the very end of the Battle of Camlann. It's technically au, but I tried very hard to stay in character._**

**_Warning: This is definitely not a fluffy fix-it. Please pay attention to genre categories before you decide to read this. _**

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><p>The men were charging forward with renewed determination, invigorated by the old sorcerer who was fighting, and winning, the battle for them. Arthur struggled to keep his concentration on the now-retreating army and not focus on the sorcerer that was saving their lives.<p>

_Why would he do that?_ Arthur desperately asked himself as he fought off two more of Morgana's men. _Why would a sorcerer help Camelot of all places, the land notorious for its hatred of magic? _

_Perhaps it was some sort of politics among sorcerers_, Arthur decided as he defeated yet another soldier, _The enemy of your enemy is your friend..._

Well, perhaps he would not go quite _that_ far.

He was jolted out of his musings by the appearance of a dark figure, just a couple of feet in front of him. Unlike the rest of the fleeing army, this man strode confidently, fearlessly towards him. His dark blue eyes glinted with hatred, with murder. Mordred raised his sword, and Arthur did the same; his heart pounded with an overwhelming array of emotions: hatred, fury, betrayal, sadness, and perhaps a little fear. He had seen Mordred fight, and had thanked the heavens that he, Arthur, would never have to fight against him.

There was no time to ponder the irony of the situation; Mordred launched himself at Arthur, and Arthur barely had time to repel the attack. They exchanged several, savage blows when Mordred broke through Arthur's defenses. Arthur saw the blade hurtling towards his chest, but did not have time to react.

_I'm sorry, Gwen_, he thought, but then he felt himself being forced to the ground. Dazed, he looked up and saw an old man, a very familiar old man.

_The sorcerer_, he realized, _How did he..._ but then Arthur saw the blade that was plunged into the old man's chest...the blade meant for him. "Too late, Emrys," Mordred hissed, and he pulled the blade out of the sorcerer's body with a sickening _hiss_. The sorcerer, _Emrys,_ Arthur supposed, crumpled to the ground and Mordred began to turn back to Arthur.

He was ready this time; Arthur jumped to his feet and sank his blade into Mordred's heart. Mordred's eyes widened, and, for a moment, Arthur caught a fleeting glimpse of the scared, lonely little boy that Mordred always was, always would be. Then the boy fell, and Arthur could see in his blank eyes that he was dead.

Beating back an overwhelming wave of guilt and regret, Arthur turned his attention to the sorcerer. He needed to take him to Gaius to be treated; the old man deserved that, at least.

Except there was no sorcerer. Arthur's heart stopped. Instead of an ancient, white-haired stranger, a small, raven-haired young man lay in a crumpled heap at his feet.

"_NO!" _Arthur gasped, whirling around to see where the old sorcerer had gone, but there was no sign of him. Dizzy with confusion, Arthur turned back to the crumpled body: _how had Merlin gotten there?_ he thought dizzily_ He had backed out, ran away, when I had needed him the most. He can't have been the sorcerer; that man was eighty at least, where Merlin is still in his twenties, but now Merlin is lying there, where the sorcerer had been, bleeding._

Merlin was bleeding.

The world stopped as Arthur's mind finally comprehended everything he was seeing. His previous thoughts forgotten, Arthur bent down and carefully scooped his best friend into his arms. Only one thing mattered now. Merlin was bleeding, and Arthur needed to help him.

Arthur strode through the battlefield, trying to rock the still-unconscious Merlin as little as possible. He could feel the servant's heartbeat pounding against his chest, faster than it should have been, but there. "Stay with me Merlin," Arthur murmured.

It was eerily quiet. There had been so much noise before; now everything was still save the birds in the trees, prattling on, unaware or indifferent to the carnage below them.

_Don't die, Merlin_. Arthur thought desperately, _Don't die. Don't die. Don't die._

Eventually, Arthur began to encounter others; physicians caring for the wounded, knights slowly trudging back to camp, some on their own, some helping their injured brethren. They would turn as Arthur approached, and their faces would break out into identical grins, "The king!" they would cry, "King Arthur is here!" Then they would see who was cradled in Arthur's arms, and the smiles would fade, for of course they all knew the King's constant companion, "Call Gaius!" they'd bellow, "Merlin needs Gaius!" Down the battlefield the word traveled. Arthur could hear the shouts of the soldiers far ahead of him, "King Arthur! Merlin! Gaius!" until it seemed a single voice was repeating over and over, "King Arthur! Merlin! King Arthur! Merlin! Arthur! Merlin! Arthur!" It made sense, Arthur supposed, for they were one.

Gaius was waiting when they finally reached camp, "Put him in here," he said hurriedly, indicating the tent nearest him. Arthur entered and gently laid Merlin on an empty cot. The servant was pale and sweaty, and still he refused to wake. Gaius was already examining the wound, "What happened?" he asked.

"I don't know," Arthur confessed, "I turned around, and there he was."

"He's been stabbed," Gaius said, still examining the wound, "The wound is very deep." He grabbed several potions and bandages from a table near the cot.

"Will he be alright?" Arthur demanded.

"It's too early to say," the physician confessed, and Arthur saw the pain in his eyes as he admitted it.

The king was too shocked to respond to this, and was spared the necessity of forming a coherent sentence when Gwen burst into the tent, looking dirty and haggard and so _very_ beautiful, "Arthur!" she cried, throwing her arms around him. Arthur held his precious queen tightly to his chest and buried his face in her shoulder; she was alive, so very, very alive, and he loved her and she would _fix_ this because she was Gwen, and Gwen fixed things. She had cared for Merlin even longer than Arthur had, and she would _fix_ this and make Merlin alright.

"Arthur," Gwen whispered, low enough that no one else would hear, "What's wrong?"

"Merlin" Arthur breathed.

"What?" Gwen gasped, pulling a little away from him and looking around, "Merlin!" she cried and knelt by the cot. Arthur found he was unable to join her; his body refused to obey him. He could only stand there staring at his unconscious servant, his dying friend, and wonder how it had ever come to this.

"It's my fault," he said quietly.

"Don't be stupid Arthur," Gwen said, "You know it isn't."

"It is," Arthur said dully, "I goaded him into coming back. Before we left, when Merlin said he wasn't coming with me. I told him that I had always considered him one of the bravest men I had ever known, but that I had been wrong," Arthur remembered the hurt, the loneliness and betrayal that he consumed him that evening. Now he wished more than anything that Merlin had stayed away. "I made him feel guilty, and that's why he came back, and now..."

Gaius had looked up from Merlin's wound. He looked surprised, almost disbelieving, and even a little angry, "Pardon me, Sire," he said, "But that is utter nonsense."

His reaction caught Arthur off guard, "What do you mean?"

"Of course Merlin was going to come, no matter what you said," the old man snapped, "Did you think for a minute that Merlin would ever abandon you? Really? After all these years, after all the times he has followed you to hell and back again, you thought he would leave you now? Do you really think so little of him?"

Arthur stared blankly at the suddenly formidable old man, "Then why did he leave?"

Gaius sighed, "He had no choice. There was something he had to do."

"What?" Arthur demanded, trying desperately to think of what could be that important. Because Gaius was right. Merlin would never leave him. Not ever.

The physician glanced nervously at the still-unconscious young man, "It is not my place to say," he said finally.

For half a moment, Arthur considered pressing for more information, but decided against it, "That's alright," he murmured, "I'll just ask him," because of course he would be able to ask Merlin. There would be plenty of time to ask him, because Merlin was going to wake up. Arthur saw Gwen and Gaius exchange anxious glances, but he ignored that too, because they were worrying unnecessarily. Merlin was going to be fine. He always was.

"It was the sorcerer," he murmured, more to distract himself than anything.

"I'm sorry sir?" Gaius asked, as he returned his attention to Merlin's chest.

"The sorcerer. He was the one who attacked Merlin." Rage coursed through his veins; no matter what else the sorcerer had done, he would pay for this.

Gaius pursed his lips, but said nothing. Gwen, however, was incredulous, "The sorcerer who beat Morgana's army?" Gwen asked, "Arthur you can't be serious."

"I know what I saw," Arthur said, "I was fighting Mordred," both Gwen and Gaius gasped at this, but Arthur ignored them, "And he was about to kill me...then the sorcerer pushed me away, so Mordred stabbed Merlin instead." _But that did not make sens_e, a little voice in the back of his head whispered, _How did Merlin get there in the first place?_ Arthur closed his eyes, trying to sort the jumbled memory out. _Mordred was about to kill him, but someone pushed him to the ground before he could. Was it Merlin? No, Arthur was certain he had seen the sorcerer standing there. Had the sorcerer pushed Merlin in front of Arthur, thinking that, because he was a servant, his life was somehow worth less? Had the sorcerer, Emrys, Arthur reminded himself. Yes, Mordred had definitely called him that. Had Emrys been helping Mordred, and Merlin saved Arthur, so Emrys stabbed Merlin in revenge? But the sorcerer had no sword, did he not need one? Yet he was sure he had seen Mordred stab the sorcerer, or had he?_

It was all a blur. Arthur's eyes snapped open, "This is ridiculous," he muttered, striding over to Merlin. Merlin would tell him, if only the idiot would wake up. "Merlin!" he shouted, "Stop lazing about! Wake up!" Gwen was squeezing his hand, telling him to let Merlin sleep, but she did not understand. Merlin was just trying to get out of work again; he would wake up if Arthur shouted a bit, as he always did. "Merlin! I command you to wake up!"

Sure enough, the servant stirred and slowly, slowly opened his eyes, "Do you need to shout?" he grumbled.

"Merlin!" Arthur cried, then controlled himself, "Well, if you weren't such a lazy clot, I wouldn't have to shout so loud."

Merlin chuckled, but the chuckle soon turned into a hacking cough. Gaius and Gwen immediately leaned forward to help, and Arthur instinctively moved closer to the bed. Laying a hand on Merlin's boot, the closest part of him the king could reach, he demanded, "Who did this to you?" the cold rage burned again in his veins.

His friend stared at him in surprise, no, shock, and, it seemed for reasons Arthur could not begin to comprehend, in fear, "You don't know?"

Suddenly feeling as if he was missing something incredibly obvious, Arthur shook his head, "No," he said, "Why should I?"

"_Mordred,"_ Merlin said.

"Yes," Arthur said, "I was fighting Mordred. I killed him. Did he...?"

"Mordred's dead?" Merlin interrupted, sitting up. The sudden movement made him moan in pain, and his skin grew, if possible, even paler.

"Merlin what are you thinking!" Arthur said furiously, "Lie down!" For once, his servant did not protest and allowed Gwen and Gaius to lay him back down on the cot, "But he's dead," Merlin gasped, "You're sure he's dead."

"Yes," Arthur said, "I killed him myself."

Heaving what seemed to be an enormous sigh of relief, Merlin closed his eyes, and for a panic-stricken moment, Arthur thought he had fallen unconscious again, "Merlin!" he commanded, "Stay with me Merlin!"

Obediently, Merlin opened his eyes, and Arthur was startled to see that they were brimming with tears.

"Merlin..." Arthur began slowly.

"You're safe, Arthur," Merlin whispered, and Arthur found himself bizarrely suspecting that he had never seen his servant so happy, "You're _safe_."

"Let's try to keep you that way too," Arthur murmured, once again feeling as if he was missing something very important.

Merlin shook his head, "Doesn't matter now."

"Stop being such a self-sacrificing idiot Merlin!" Arthur shouted. Gwen shot him a fierce glare, and Arthur forced himself to make his voice calm again, "Just tell us what happened...please," he added with quick glance at Gwen. She nodded her approval.

"Mordred was about to kill you," Merlin said, there were still tears in his eyes, "And I pushed you out of the way, and now he can't hurt you anymore."

Nothing was making sense: "I could have sworn I saw the old sorcerer push me out of the way," Arthur said.

Merlin stared at him for a long, long moment, and Arthur caught a glimpse of the _ancientness_ that he sometimes saw in the servant's eyes, a wisdom and weariness beyond his years. His friend looked at Gaius, as if seeking confirmation. Gaius nodded almost imperceptibly, and Merlin looked back at Arthur, the wisdom and the weariness more pronounced than ever, "Like I said," he said slowly, carefully enunciating each word, "I pushed you out of the way."

Suddenly, the tent seemed as cold and quiet as death. _Perhaps I am dead, _Arthur reasoned, _Which is why Gwen is looking at our best friend like she's seeing him for the first time, why Gaius is staring at the ground, looking resigned and _scared_, and why Merlin, _Merlin _of all people, sounds like he is claiming to be a sorcerer with the power to rout an entire army._

Arthur laughed, even though there was nothing funny at all about what was happening, "The wound's addled your brains a bit, Merlin. You'll feel better once you've rested."

The glee that had lit the young servant's face was gone now, "It's the truth, Arthur," he said solemnly, "I have magic. I've had magic from the day I was born."

The world was spinning; Arthur had the sudden, overwhelming urge to be sick. _Merlin was wrong_, he thought, trying hard not to panic, _He was injured. He hit his head. That sorcerer addled his brains, and he is _wrong.

"_Merlin_," he heard himself saying, as if the servant had forgotten to polish his armor again, "That sorcerer," he spat out the word, and Merlin flinched, "Was older than Gaius. He couldn't possibly be..."

Merlin lifted his hand and started speaking in a low, tremulous voice. Arthur did not understand a single word, but he did not have to. He recognized the language from hours of studying, of drilling, with Uther so he would be able to recognize magic...so he could eliminate it and everyone, _anyone_ who practiced it. Then Merlin's blue eyes were not blue anymore, they were gold, and Merlin was not Merlin anymore, he was Emrys...and Emrys was holding an orb of light in the palm of his hand.

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><p><strong><em>Thank you so much for reading. The rest of the fic is done, so updates should be pretty quick. Your thoughts are very much appreciated. <em>**


	2. Chapter 2

**_a/n Thank you so much to everyone who has read/followed/favorite this! I hope you enjoy :)_**

**_ruby890: I'm so happy you liked it. Sorry the update took a bit longer than I was expecting. _**

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><p><em>Merlin lifted his hand and started speaking in a low, tremulous voice. Arthur did not understand a single word, but he did not have to. He recognized the language from hours of studying, of drilling, with Uther so he would be able to recognize magic...so he could eliminate it and everyone, anyone who practiced it. Then Merlin's blue eyes were not blue anymore, they were gold, and Merlin was not Merlin anymore, he was Emrys...and Emrys was holding an orb of light in the palm of his hand.<em>

"I did it for you," the sorcerer whispered, the light in his hand fading, his eyes returning to their normal shade of blue, but the man lying on the cot was not Merlin. Perhaps Merlin never existed. "My magic...it was always for you."

Lies. Lies. They were all lies. Those ten years, the best decade of Arthur's life...all a lie. For once, Arthur found he had nothing to say. There were not words, not even in the forbidden language of magic, which could quantify the rage, the grief, the sense of betrayal. The king turned, "Arthur, _please_," the traitor begged. Arthur ignored him and strode from the tent.

Outside the camp was in chaos as the army prepared to leave. Tents were being dismantled, weapons gathered, horses loaded. In the midst of everything stood Sir Leon, who sported a gash on his cheek but otherwise seemed uninjured, barking orders in every direction.

"Your Majesty!" he called as Arthur approached, "It's good to see you!"

"And you, Sir Leon!" Arthur called, trying to make his voice cheerful but he realized, failing miserably. "How did we fare?" he asked, dropping any pretense of good humor.

"Overall, very well," the knight said, "We lost twenty knights, and many more were injured, but truthfully, we were expecting far, far worse." He hesitated, "If it hadn't been for that sorcerer, I'm not sure any of us would be standing here now, Sir."

_Yes but he _lied, Arthur thought, staring at the ground, _All those years, all those battles, all those mornings when I'd wake up, and he'd be the first thing I saw. All the time he was lying._ "Any sign of Morgana," he said finally.

"No Sire," Sir Leon said slowly, seeming to notice Arthur's discomfort, even if he never could have guessed why, "Do you think the sorcerer may have..."

"No," Arthur said firmly. Merlin...Emrys...would have undoubtedly mentioned killing Morgana...lying scoundrel though he was.

Leon shot him a curious look, clearly surprised by the finality in Arthur's tone, "Anyway," he continued uneasily, "That's why I went ahead and started organizing our departure. Morgana's army is all but destroyed, but she can do plenty of damage on her own."

"Very good thinking," Arthur said briskly, "Thank you Sir Leon. I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."

"There's no need to apologize, Sire," Leon said kindly, "How's Merlin?"

"Merlin?" Arthur repeated sharply.

"Yes," Leon said uneasily, "We heard he was injured."

Arthur blinked. He had been so consumed by Merlin's betrayal that he had forgotten the sorcerer was hurt. _Well_, Arthur thought to himself, _He can just heal himself, surely...maybe that's why he finally told me. _"He's fine," Arthur said briskly, "I'll take over from here."

"Sire, I can stay, if you would rather be with him," Sir Leon said kindly.

Arthur looked up into the gentle knights eyes. He was scared for Merlin; of course he was-they all were. The servant had accompanied every hunt, every patrol. He had been at every training session, stood alongside them at every battle. They had long counted him as their friend and brother, though he had never been knighted. Arthur wondered what they would say when they learned the truth. "No, Leon," he said finally, "It is my responsibility."

"Actually Sir Leon," a cool voice said behind them, "If you could remain a few minutes longer...I need to speak to the King."

Knowing better than to disobey when the Queen took that tone, the knight nodded.

"Leave it, Guinevere," Arthur scowled.

"I'm afraid, _My Lord_, that I must insist," Gwen said in that same, cold voice.

Knowing that it was useless to argue, Arthur followed her to the edge of the camp, near Merlin's tent, the king realized furiously. Once they were safely out of earshot, Gwen rounded on him, fixing Arthur with a cold, furious glare.

"What is it Guinevere?" he demanded.

"Merlin is calling for you," Gwen said in that same, cold voice. When Arthur did not reply she continued, "He hasn't stopped calling for you since you left."

"He's a sorcerer," Arthur growled.

"Yes, he is," Gwen agreed, "And he is your best, your most loyal friend, and he needs you!"

"He lied!" Arthur said furiously, "He defied the laws of Camelot in the heart of the palace itself!"

"Didn't you listen," Gwen shot back, "He was _born _with magic, Arthur! It wasn't his choice. He was only able to choose what he did with his powers, and even you cannot deny he could not have served Camelot better!"

She was missing the point. The fact that Merlin was a sorcerer was one thing, Arthur never hated magic with the passion his father had. What hurt far, far more was that he had spent every day of his life for the past decade with Merlin and never known.

"He betrayed us," Arthur hissed, "Don't you feel angry, Gwen, betrayed that he has been lying to you all these years?"

"Yes," Gwen admitted, her voice softening, "Yes, of course I did." She took a deep breathe, "But then I thought about how lonely and scared he must have been, every single day fearing that his friends would discover his secret and banish or execute him, yet he stood by us. He never, ever failed us. And it made me wonder...who had truly betrayed whom?"

For the first time since Merlin's confession, Arthur felt more than blind, heartless rage. Gwen was right, it would have been lonely, terrifying even. Was that why Merlin had always smiled so much, to try to hide the constant fear he lived in, even from himself? The anger was still there, still howling about traitors, evil, and lies, but it was tempered, if only slightly, by something else...pity.

"I don't know him," Arthur confessed, "After all these years I thought I knew him like I knew myself, but now...all I see is a stranger."

Gwen's eyes were loving, but firm, "Then I think it's about time to meet him."

Arthur opened his mouth to agree, but stopped himself. He could not bring himself to see Merlin again, not yet, not if it meant losing the kind-hearted, bumbling, idiotically loyal servant he had relied on all these years, replaced by the all-powerful sorcerer who made entire armies turn and run. "Fetch Gaius" he said instead, "If he can spare the time." Gwen sighed heavily, "Please," Arthur whispered.

Gwen's dark eyes met Arthur's own. She nodded and returned to the tent. Arthur caught a glimpse of her taking Merlin's hand before the tent flap fell closed.

Sighing, Arthur turned away from the tent and looked out over the now-deserted battlefield, and the cliff where Emrys? Merlin?,.. Arthur could not decide who the man in the tent really was, had rained lightning down upon Camelot's enemies. "How is _that_," Arthur murmured to himself, "The same man who still can't polish my armor properly."

"Quite easily, Sire," Gaius' voice said from behind him. Arthur whirled around; the physician was looking straight at him. His old eyes were calm, yet overpoweringly sad.

"Thank you for coming Gaius," Arthur murmured.

"Merlin is calling for you," the old man replied.

"Yes," Arthur said, glancing down at the ground, "I know, but first, I need some answers."

"I'll do my best, Sire," Gaius said calmly.

"You knew about Merlin," Arthur surmised, "All along."

With the slightest hesitation, Gaius nodded.

"Why did he come here?" Arthur asked, "To Camelot, of all places?"

"It is far easier to hide abilities such as his in a large city, rather than a tiny village," Gaius said simply, "He never meant to attract Uther's attention, or yours, if it comes to that."

"If he wanted to avoid our attention," Arthur said quietly, "Then why didn't he leave when Uther made him my servant?"

Gaius peered at him curiously, "Surely you know the answer to that, Sire," he said. When Arthur did not reply, the physician sighed heavily, "You and Merlin fit each other like a hand in a glove. Without a glove, the hand is exposed and defenseless, yet at the same time, a glove without a hand is empty, purposeless. Merlin realized that, as, I think, did you, Sire. He never even considered leaving."

Arthur frowned at the ground. Gaius was right; Merlin had quickly become an extension of himself, albeit a far clumsier one. Soon, everyone assumed they would be found together: the knights, the nobles, the other servants, even his father. "Arthur's shadow," they had called Merlin, "Arthur's other half," and Arthur had eventually accepted their comments without complaint because, he had come to realize, they were in many ways true. _Was it still the truth_?

"What's his name?" Arthur asked suddenly, "Mordred called him Emrys...is that his proper name, and he has just been giving us a false one all this time?"

Gaius' face broke out into a bemused smile, "Of course Merlin is his real name, Sire. It is the name his mother gave him at birth. The druids, and other creatures of magic, simply refer to him by another name...Emrys, whom many believe to be the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth." Arthur caught his breath at this, and the old man raised an eyebrow, "It is really nothing to fret over, Sire," he said, "His magic was only ever for you, and the druids often have their own names for people...even you."

"Me?" Arthur asked incredulously, "What do they call me?"

"The Once and Future King."

"What does that mean?" Arthur asked blankly.

Gaius shrugged, "Not even the druids know that I'm afraid."

"Gaius!" Gwen's voice rang out from the tent. Without another word, Gaius rushed in, surprisingly nimble for one so old. With only the slightest hesitation, Arthur followed.

"He's burning up," Gwen said in a slightly panicked voice.

Gaius strode over and felt Merlin's neck and brow, "Something's wrong," he murmured, turning to his bag of supplies and withdrawing a small glass bottle. He poured a few drops of the liquid into Merlin's mouth, "That will help control the fever," he muttered, "But something is very wrong." He hesitated then glanced up at Arthur, "Sire," he said carefully, "There is a spell that would allow me to better diagnose his injuries..."

Of course, Arthur thought resignedly, even Uther had known that Gaius had once dabbled in magic...it only made sense that he still did on occasion. Arthur nodded, and Gaius laid his hands on Merlin's chest, murmuring more of those strange words. The king watched numbly, his mind reeling from all that had been hidden from him. He glanced down at Merlin; he was unconscious again and paler than ever, and Arthur remembered how serious the wound had been. Concern for his manservant, or whoever the man in the cot was, overtook him again, outweighing even his rage.

Gaius looked up, and his expression was, if possible, even graver. "There is magic in this wound," he said, "Mordred's sword was enchanted, and a fragment of the blade broke off...it is traveling towards his heart...there is nothing I can do."

It was as if the ground had been ripped out from under him, _No_, _this cannot be. Gaius got it wrong_, Arthur thought desperately, "Can't he heal himself?" he spluttered.

"The blade was burnished in a dragon's fire," Gaius whispered, "No spell will be able to reverse its effects."

_Was Gaius giving up_? Arthur thought blankly, _How could he...this is _Merlin. "There must be something we can do," he said furiously.

"I'm sorry, Sire," Gaius sighed, looking much older than the king had ever seen him, "He has two days, at best."

"You can't seriously be saying we have to just sit here and watch him die!" Arthur roared, "This is MERLIN!" _Even if I do not know him_ he thought.

"Arthur," Gwen said soothingly, standing up and taking his hand. Arthur squeezed it instinctively, but it only helped slightly. It did not stop Gaius from being a stupid, stubborn old boar trying to stand there and convince him that Merlin was going to die.

"Please, Gaius," he pleaded, "There must be something we can do."

"Arthur," a small voice murmured from the cot. Merlin's eyes flickered open, "You called," he murmured in the same, resigned-sounding voice whenever Arthur was about to tell him to do something that Merlin knew he was going to hate. It made the king want to laugh and cry at once. Instead, he knelt by the cot and took Merlin's hand, "I'm sorry I woke you," he said.

"No," Merlin said, that same ancient and tired look in his eyes, "I'm sorry. All those years...I'm sorry..."

"We'll talk about it later," Arthur said, because of course there would be plenty of time for later, "Right now, we need to make you well."

"I'll be alright," Merlin said, a shadow of his old, goofy smiling flitting across his face.

"Of course," Arthur said, forcing himself to smile, "I need _someone_ to polish my armor."

Merlin chuckled again, but thankfully did not start to cough, "I'll take care of it as soon as we reach Camelot."

"I expect so," Arthur said in mock seriousness. He glanced desperately up at Gaius, "There has to be something we can do."

Gaius hesitated, "Our only hope is to seek aid from the Schree in the Lake of Avalon. They are the only ones who will be able to heal the wound."

"Avalon," Gwen repeated, "But that's a day and half's ride in the opposite direction...the woods will be crawling with Morgana's men."

"Perhaps even Morgana herself," Gaius agreed, "Sire it is far too dangerous..."

Arthur held up a hand, and the physician fell silent. Arthur sighed and stared at the ground. Part of him, the part that was Uther, agreed. _It's too risky, _the voice said, _You are the _king.._.you can't go risking your life like this. Besides, he's a _sorcerer_, you can't trust him. _Arthur looked back up at Merlin and stared into those deep blue eyes that he knew so well, yet at the same time he barely knew at all. Merlin. Merlin who had served him so faithfully for so long, who had questioned and criticized him when no one else would, who rode off with him to fight dragons and armies and kings without a second thought, who had accompanied him on every patrol, every hunt, and when Arthur asked why, Merlin would just smile and say that _someone_ had to look after the royal prat. Then Arthur would laugh, and Merlin would laugh too, though the laugh never reached his eyes, and he would look at Arthur as if _begging_ him to see something, something vitally important, but then the moment would be gone and Merlin would be just Merlin again.

Merlin had meant it; Arthur realized with a start, he had meant every word. He had protected Arthur all these years, and the king had never realized. How many times had Merlin saved his life and never once asked to be thanked? Arthur's eyes fell to the hand that had recently held the orb of light... and felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. As if from a nearly forgotten dream, he remembered clinging to the cliff face of a cave, the dark and the cold threatening to send him to a pathetic death. Then, just as he was resigning himself to the fact that he was going to die there, alone, an orb of light had appeared out of nowhere and guided him to safety. He had wondered how it had gotten there, but over the years had nearly forgotten the incident entirely.

The answer had been standing next to him in a stupid neckerchief the entire time.

"That settles it," Arthur murmured, getting to his feet, "Pack any medicines he might need. We'll be leaving within the hour."

"Where are we going?" Merlin asked.

"To Avalon," Arthur said simply.

"Arthur, no," Merlin protested, "It's too dangerous."

"We'll be fine," Arthur said dismissively. He stuck his head out the tent flap, "Sir Leon!" he called, "Sir Gwaine! Sir Percival! I need to see you!"

"Arthur," Merlin said as Arthur returned to the cot, he sounded almost angry, "Arthur I'm not..."

"Don't," Arthur said, pointing a stern finger at Merlin, because no one was going to say that he was not worth it..._especially _Merlin, "Don't even start."

"You called, Your Majesty," Sir Leon said, before Merlin could argue, entering the tent. Gwaine and Percival followed, looking battered, but overall not worse for the wear.

"Yes," Arthur said, "Thank you gentlemen." He paused, suddenly frightened to admit the truth, as if it words would make it real, "Merlin has been injured," he said finally.

"Yes, we heard," Gwaine said, unable to keep his concern out of his voice, "How is he?"

"I'm afraid it's quite serious," Arthur confessed. Sir Leon frowned, clearly confused, and the others wore identical masks of horror, just as Arthur knew they would. He cleared his throat and forced himself to continue, "I'm taking him to the Schree in the Lake of Avalon...they will be able to heal him. Sir Leon, I need you to finish overseeing the army's departure. Gwaine, Percival, you will assist him in whatever he needs."

"Let us come with you," Gwaine said, "With Morgana's men out there... you'll need all the protection you can get."

"I'm afraid you can't," Arthur said, "Time is of the essence, and it is imperative that we not attract attention to ourselves. The fewer of us there are the better."

Gwaine opened his mouth to protest, but Percival nudged him, and Gwaine nodded in acquiescence.

"In the meantime," Arthur said, reaching his hand into the pouch on his belt and withdrawing a small, gold ring on a chain...the royal seal. He gripped the seal in his hands for several seconds before finally turning to Gwen. "The trip," he murmured, not wanting Merlin to hear, "Will be dangerous," he pressed the seal into her hand, "I need you to look after this while I'm gone, and if anything should happen to me, I will need you to use it." He cupped his hand around Gwen's cheek. There were tears in her eyes, but her gaze was steady and calm, "No matter what happens," Arthur continued, "Camelot needs a ruler...and I can think of no one better than you."

"I will take care of it, My Lord," she whispered.

"I know Gwen," Arthur replied, "I know." He kissed her, briefly but fiercely before returning his attention to the knights. "See that two horses are readied with all the provisions we'll need," he said, "We'll leave as soon as they're ready." The knights nodded and retreated from the tent.

Wearily, the king turned back to the cot to find Merlin staring at him with a mixture of anger, exasperation, and confusion. "You shouldn't do this," he murmured.

"You're not in much of a state to stop me, are you?" Arthur said, trying desperately to keep his voice brisk and light.

"I didn't risk my life all these years for you to die trying to save me, Arthur," Merlin insisted.

"Neither of us are going to die," Arthur said, "Gaius, help me prepare him for the journey."

Gaius rebandaged the sorcerer's wound and gave him several potions to ease his pain. Filling a small sack with the remaining potions as well as a plentiful supply of extra bandages, he gave the king careful instructions on when and how to administer the potions as well as how to contact the Schree once they reached Avalon. Merlin protested all the while, but Arthur ignored him. He had forgotten how insufferably selfless his manservant could be.

"There's no use blabbering on about it," Arthur finally said in exasperation as he and Gaius helped Merlin out of the cot.

"Mordred's dead, Morgana's defeated," Merlin murmured as Arthur and Gaius helped him out of the tent. Gwaine, Leon, and Percival were waiting with the horses, "You don't need me anymore Arthur."

"One always needs a manservant," Arthur replied.

"You'd let me stay?" Merlin asked, sounding both shocked and, Arthur was surprised to realize, a little hopeful.

Arthur hesitated; in his rush, he had forgotten about the magic. What would he do with his unspeakably loyal, yet undoubtedly criminal, manservant when this was over? Fortunately, he was rescued from that particularly tortuous line of thought when Gwaine approached, clapping Merlin lightly on the shoulder, "See you soon Merlin," he said with a wink, "I've still got to tell you about the time I got engaged to three separate women in one evening,"

Merlin chuckled, "I bet they were devastated."

"Not once they found out about each other," Gwaine laughed, "Then _I_ was the one who needed to worry."

"I'm looking forward to it," Merlin murmured.

"Me too," Gwaine said with a final pat on Merlin's back.

"It's been an honor, Merlin," Sir Leon said, extending his hand. Carefully unwrapping his arm from Gaius' shoulder, Merlin took it, and the two men shook solemnly. Percival approached next. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to change his mind. Instead, he gave Merlin a warm smile and enveloped his hand in bone-breaking shake. The knights stood back as Arthur and Gwaine lifted Merlin onto the saddle. Grimacing, Merlin hunched forward but grabbed the reins nonetheless. Gaius stepped closer and started speaking to Merlin in a low voice, a fond, sad smile playing his lips.

Feeling as if he were intruding on something very private, Arthur turned to the knights, "Thank you, gentlemen," he said.

"Just take care of Merlin," Gwaine said quietly.

"I will," Arthur promised.

"Of course," Percival said in his low gentle voice, "Just as he took care of you."

Finding that he could think of nothing to say to this, the king merely nodded and turned back to the horses. Gaius had just turned away from Merlin, tears shining in his eyes. Arthur extended a hand toward the old physician, and Gaius took it, "Thank you, Sire," he said.

"Merlin would do the same," Arthur murmured. Despite all the sorcerer's betrayals, he was sure of that.

"Yes," Gaius agreed, "He would." The old man walked past him to stand next to Sir Percival, and Arthur turned his attention to Gwen.

She too, had just been saying farewell, and Arthur noticed there were tears in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him, "We'll be back soon," he promised.

"I know," she whispered. She kissed him, "You be careful," she said sternly.

"I will," Arthur promised, "I'll see you in a few days...we'll both see you in a few days."

"Of course," she said, "Now go. You haven't much time."

Arthur nodded and mounted his horse. With a last, swift glance at the assembled group, he spurred his horse to a quick trot, and rode out of the camp. Merlin, as always, followed.

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><p><strong><em>an I hope you enjoyed, and I'd loved to hear your thought/critiques/whatever :)_**


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n Again, thank you everyone!**

**To the guest review: Thanks for pointing out that mistake! I'll try to go through and correct the spelling in any future chapters.**

**Ruby890: I'm pleasantly surprised that you haven't seen this done before. I haven't read a ton of stuff in this fandom, so I didn't know if this was creative at all...I'm so happy you're liking it!**

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><p>They rode in silence for nearly two hours before Arthur decided that they needed to rest; Merlin was still gripping the reins tightly, but his eyes were dazed and delirious. The king dismounted and pulled a water bag out of one of the saddlebags, "Here," he said, handing the bag up to Merlin.<p>

"Thank you," the manservant murmured. He drank deeply before handing the bag back to Arthur.

"We'll rest here for another ten minutes," Arthur said, also taking a drink. He closed his eyes, briefly acknowledging the exhaustion he had been keeping at bay. _To be fair_, he thought to himself, _in the past twelve hours, I fought and won an impossible battle and set off on a day-and-a-half long journey to save my best friend's life._

_And found out he was a sorcerer._

"Arthur," the sorcerer-in-question's voice jolted Arthur out of his reverie. _I can't afford to do this, _he thought angrily to himself. _It's far too dangerous...and Merlin can't look after himself anymore. He can't look after either of us._

He had never realized how much he depended on the fact that wherever he was, Merlin would be standing there with a goofy grin and a snide remark at the ready. Merlin. Always dependable. Always all right.

Now he was neither of those things.

Arthur opened his eyes. Merlin was staring at him; his familiar yet foreign blue eyes seemed strangely concerned, "Are you alright?" he asked.

Arthur blinked, _is Merlin really worrying about me now_, he thought in disbelief, "Of course I am you idiot," he snapped.

"You just looked drained," the raven-haired man murmured, looking abashed.

Arthur sighed, "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm fine...just a bit tired that's all."

"You should rest."

"We need to keep moving," Arthur said, preparing to mount his horse.

"Arthur," Merlin said, and there was something in his voice that made Arthur turn to face him; "Why are you doing this?"

"You saved Camelot," Arthur said, as evenly as he could manage.

Merlin shook his head, "No, why are _you_ doing this? Why not Gwaine or Leon or one of the others?"

Arthur hesitated, "I had a servant," he said, mounting his horse, "He was lazy, insolent, and unreliable, but he was my friend, and I thought I knew him as well as I knew myself...and then I found out that I really didn't know him at all." Merlin shifted guiltily, but Arthur continued, "I want to get to know the man I thought I knew all those years."

"I'm not really that different, you know," Merlin murmured.

"The most powerful sorcerer of all time?" Arthur said, raising his eyebrows.

"I still spent half my life mucking your stables and polishing your armor," Merlin said with a wan smile, "Just because you didn't see everything doesn't mean that everything you know about me is not true."

"Still an idiotic drunk then," Arthur laughed.

Merlin grimaced, "Except for that."

"What?" Arthur demanded, feeling relieved as they fell into the familiar banter, perhaps this was the same old Merlin after all, "Don't try to tell me that you're not an idiot...the fact that you're a sorcerer hiding in _Camelot_ of all places proves that."

"True," Merlin chuckled, "I mean the drinking...all those times you thought I was in the tavern..."

"What? You were actually running around, using your powers to save Camelot?" Arthur laughed. The laughter died when he saw the look on Merlin's face, "You can't be serious?" he said.

"Gaius is _really_ bad at making up excuses," Merlin explained.

"Well then," Arthur said, spurring his horse, "You'd better tell me everything from the beginning, and don't," he held up a finger in mock solemnity, "Leave anything out."

Merlin smiled, "I'd like that."

So he talked, in a low, quiet voice, his eyes glittering with excitement, even if he was still nervous. He told about how before he could speak he was sending dishes hurtling across the house, how his first memory was of his mother telling him very sternly that he must not ever tell anybody about the magic because it would make everyone very, very cross, how he _tried_ to forget about what he could do, but sometimes it would just _come out_, about the time that Will had seen him conjuring butterflies but had accepted him immediately. He told about those few, glorious months when there had been no secrets, no lies. Then his mother had decided that he was no longer safe in Ealdor and sent him to Camelot. He did not go into detail, but Arthur saw a flash of the fear, sadness, and loneliness he had surely felt, _And I didn't make it any better,_ he thought guiltily, remembering their first encounters. He felt slightly less guilty when Merlin admitted that he had used magic in that first, humiliating fight.

"I should have put you in the stocks for longer," he grumbled.

Merlin laughed and continued with his story, how he had first saved Arthur's life...using magic.

"Hold on," he said, interrupting, "You saved my life using sorcery."

"It's hardly the only time," Merlin said, rolling his eyes.

"No, but," Arthur said, and he found himself chortling, "You saved my life with _sorcery_, and my father made you my manservant because you saved my life," he continued to roar with laughter.

Merlin nodded blankly, clearly not understanding what was so funny.

"Which means," Arthur gasped between chuckles, "My father hired you _because_ you were a sorcerer!"

Merlin chuckled, and then laughed until he was roaring with mirth. He winced and clutched his side, "Shouldn't do that," he mumbled.

The laughter vanished from Arthur's face, "I'm sorry," he said, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Merlin winced. He smiled again, "I just never thought of it like that."

"Well go on," Arthur said, chuckling again, "Tell me just describe _how many times_ you defied my Father's laws."

With a small smile, Merlin did, describing sorcerers, magical creatures, and...

"Dragon!" Arthur roared, feeling fury rise in his chest once more, "You conversed with the _dragon_!"

Nodding meekly, Merlin said, "He called to me, inside my head."

"So you _chatted_, with the dragon," Arthur said furiously, "You wouldn't also happened to have _freed_ him would you?"

"I had no choice," Merlin murmured, "He made me promise...in exchange for his help...I didn't know he would..."

"You didn't think a dragon would attack the people who had imprisoned him for twenty years!" Arthur shouted, "Merlin you are truly an _idiot_." Merlin did not refute this, so Arthur sighed in exasperation, "I suppose you're the one who actually killed him then?"

Merlin shook his head.

"Well, it's good to know I did something for once," Arthur murmured. However, the sheepish look on Merlin's face seemed to say otherwise, "Alright, then who _did_ kill him."

"He's not dead," Merlin whispered.

"He's not what! Then why isn't he still attacking us!" Arthur demanded.

Merlin shrugged, "I told him to stop."

It was only the fact that Merlin was still hunched over his horse and his skin was several shades paler than usual (if that were possible) that kept Arthur from reaching over shaking his servant in frustration. Instead, he closed his eyes, trying to remain calm, "Merlin," he said, "No one can just tell a dragon to stop."

"Dragonlords can," Merlin said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"But the last dragonlord _died_, Merlin," Arthur said, "You were there."

"It's passed father to son," Merlin murmured, staring determinedly at his horse's mane.

"But Balinor didn't have a...oh..." Arthur said, finally realizing what Merlin was trying to tell him. He suddenly remembered seeing Merlin, clutching Balinor's dead body to his chest, weeping. He had not understood the connection the boy seemed to have forged with the man and, if was completely honest with himself, he was slightly jealous of it. _"No man is worth your tears"_ he had said coldly. Merlin had looked up at him, his face once again wearing that strange, pleading expression, as if begging Arthur to understand something vitally important. As always, however, the expression had lasted only a moment, and Merlin had nodded and continued on the journey without another word. _He must have been heartbroken _Arthur thought, regretting his insensitive words. He remembered leaving the throne room, after standing vigil over his father's grave the entire night, only to find Merlin dozing outside, waiting for him.

"_I didn't want you to be alone,"_ he had said.

"I'm sorry," Arthur murmured.

Merlin nodded but said nothing. They rode in silence for several minutes before Arthur, desperate to break the unnatural quiet, finally said, "So you still...talk to the dragon then."

Looking relieved, whether at the resumption of their story or the fact that Arthur was no longer shouting, Merlin nodded, "Often. I go to him for advice...I don't always listen, though," he admitted sadly.

"Advice?" Arthur asked, "About what?"

His eyes perhaps more solemn than the king had ever seen them, Merlin said, "About how to help you."

"Help me?" Arthur said incredulously, "Why would the dragon want to help me?"

"He believes in you, Arthur," Merlin said softly, "Just like I do. He believes in the world you're trying to build."

For several seconds, Arthur could not speak. He thought his head was ready to explode as, with each word that Merlin said, memories and assumptions and beliefs were all torn down and slowly, ever so slowly, rebuilt themselves. _I have the same dream as a dragon and an all-powerful sorcerer? _ he thought_, How can that be?_

"Well, go on, if you'd like," he said, "There's no point stopping now."

Smiling again, Merlin continued with his story, describing his realization of Morgana's budding powers, the dragon's warnings, his efforts to stop her incessant betrayals...and the poison. He cast his eyes down in shame as he described what he had been forced to do.

"You had no choice," Arthur said softly.

Sighing, Merlin said, "I know, but I wonder...if I _hadn't_...maybe she would not have become so...evil."

"She chose her own path," Arthur said firmly, his mind searing as he fully comprehended the extent of Morgana's betrayal, "You have nothing to blame yourself for."

Merlin nodded, though Arthur suspected he did not fully believe him, and continued his story. For once, Arthur felt no desire to interrupt as he listened, transfixed, as Merlin told halves of stories that Arthur had thought he had known, and described entirely new adventures as well. Merlin barely stopped for breath as he spoke; he had clearly dreamt of this day for the past decade. The chance to finally tell Arthur who he truly was.

Arthur found he wanted to listen.

It was nightfall when Merlin finally concluded his story. He had stopped only to drink from the waterskin or to allow Arthur to ask him a question, and when Arthur, unable to hide his concern, would ask if he needed to take a break and conserve his strength. The manservant-sorcerer would only shake his head, "It helps me focus," he would murmur.

"So you had a dream of Mordred stabbing me," Arthur said slowly as he helped a grimacing Merlin off his horse and seated him against a tree, "That's why you never liked him."

"I liked him," Merlin admitted, "I just never trusted him. He was prophesied to bring about your doom, but we prevented that."

"No," Arthur said quietly, "You did."

Neither spoke as Arthur built a fire and started heating up some stew, always keeping an eye on Merlin. He seemed alert, Arthur saw with relief; his eyes followed the king's movements, a small, frown playing his lips. Perhaps he disapproved of a king doing such menial chores, though Arthur doubted it. More likely he was critical of the way Arthur was preparing the meal.

"I can do it," he grumbled as Arthur tried to spoon stew into his mouth.

"No, you really can't," Arthur said, "You barely have enough strength to lift your arms."

"I'll be fine," Merlin insisted raising his arm a few inches and looking as though the effort was completely exhausting him.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur said, "Don't be such an idiot Merlin. Now eat the stew. That's an order." He shoved the spoon in the warlock's mouth, and a glaring Merlin finally obeyed.

"Is that supposed to be edible!" he gasped.

"It's better than yours," Arthur retorted, "Now _eat_."

Merlin grudgingly accepted one mouthful after another, eating in silence until the bowl was finally empty. "That was the _worst_ meals I've had in my life," he shot Arthur his familiar cheeky grin.

"You're welcome," Arthur said, smiling at Merlin's familiar chipper mood.

"You need to eat too," Merlin said more seriously.

"I am capable of taking care of myself _Merlin_," Arthur rolled his eyes again; was Merlin seriously still worrying about his welfare?

"Then what have you been paying me to do all these years?" Merlin laughed.

"To use sorcery to save my life, apparently," Arthur mumbled.

"Does that mean I get a raise?" Merlin asked, smiling.

"Definitely not," Arthur laughed, "Especially since I have a feeling I know why you're so good at dice games!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Merlin said, grinning a little sheepishly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Of course not!" He hesitated, "But I do have a question."

Noticing the sudden change in Arthur's tone, Merlin nodded for him to continue.

"Why did you act like you were just a servant for all these years?"

"Everyone has to make a living," Merlin said, giving Arthur the smile that the king now realized he used when he was lying.

"No," Arthur said softly, shaking his head, "You're the most powerful sorcerer of all time, but you made yourself my servant, my _bodyguard_ even...why?"

For a long moment, Merlin simply stared at Arthur. His blue eyes told the king that Merlin knew the answer; he had known it all along. "We are all born to do something," he began slowly, quietly, "Some of us," he looked meaningfully at Arthur, "Are born to be kings...and some of us are born to serve them. That's what I am here for, Arthur, that is why I have magic...all of it was to help you become the king you are, and to help create the Albion we dreamed of." He grinned, "Even by polishing your armor."

Arthur let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding. His mind grappled to find words to describe his torrent of emotions: shock, awe, gratitude...humility. He longed to say something that expressed to the warlock how much it all meant to him, but the words would not, could not come.

"Get some rest," he said finally, clapping a hand on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin nodded and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he was asleep.

_He must have been more tired than he let on_, Arthur thought, _The idiot. _The king quickly rinsed out the dishes with water from the waterskin and packed them away. "This really is bothersome," he mumbled, "Maybe I should give him that raise." _If he makes it_ a small, nagging voice whispered in the back of his head. "Shut up!" he said fiercely under his breath

Packing up his gear, Arthur leaned against a bolder that was close to Merlin and drew his sword. Just in case.

"We'll be alright, Merlin" he whispered before drifting into a light, fitful sleep.

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><p><strong>an One more chapter and an epilogue.**

**Once again, thank you for reading, and a double thank you for favoriting/following/reviewing!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you again to everyone reading/favoriting/following this. It means a lot**_

_**And an extra special thank you to Ruby890 for being extra fabulous and reviewing!**_

_**Warning: This chapter includes a major character death...I'm sorry...**_

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><p>Arthur awoke early, ate, woke Merlin, and helped him eat (much to the Warlock's chagrin). This accomplished, they managed to resume their journey shortly after dawn.<p>

"One more day," Arthur murmured to himself, and it was a good thing. If anything, Merlin looked more exhausted and pained than before he had gone to bed. They rode as quickly as Arthur dared, though not nearly as quickly as he would have liked, but Merlin was losing focus more and more easily. Arthur kept up a rapid and continuous dialogue, usually recounting old victories or funny stories, to keep his friend conscious and attentive. This helped, although it did force Arthur to pay less attention to the landscape around them.

"Halt!" someone who Arthur instantly realized as one of Morgana's men cried, galloping up behind them as he and Merlin made their way up a grassy knoll. Arthur cursed internally; he did not have time to fight these men, but turned to face them.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, deliberately making his voice long and drawling.

"What is your business here?" one of the men demanded.

Arthur widened his eyes in fake bewilderment, "Why we are just peddlers," he said innocently.

"In knight's armor?" the second man said, already reaching for his sword. Arthur made for his own, but before he had a chance to use it, both men were flying back and tumbling down the knoll.

"Let's go," Merlin grimaced, and Arthur just had time to see the flash of gold leaving his eyes.

Arthur kicked his horse forward, and Merlin's followed after, "You shouldn't have done that, Merlin," he said angrily.

"It was two on one," Merlin gasped, "Couldn't risk you getting hurt. Besides…you already know I have magic."

"It's not the magic that bothers me," Arthur said fiercely, and he realized with a jolt that it was the truth, "I don't want you getting any weaker!"

Merlin blinked in surprise, "Sorry," he finally murmured.

"It's alright," Arthur said, his anger instantly overridden by concern…Merlin was _so_ pale: "Do you remember that time when Gwaine…"

They stopped a little after noon to give Merlin a chance to rest. The manservant was completely helpless now, and worse, he was no longer trying to hide it from Arthur.

"There's a stream over there," Arthur said as he laid Merlin in the tall grass, "I'll fill the waterskin and be right back." He dashed to the water, terrified to leave Merlin on his own for even a couple minutes.

He was not fast enough, Arthur realized with a sickening jolt as he ran back to his helpless friend. Someone was standing over Merlin, someone with wild black hair and an even blacker dress. Arthur felt the blood drain from his face: Morgana.

He drew his sword and stealthily approached the pair.

"He abandoned you," Morgana was gloating, "I bet my _dear_ brother found out who you were and left you to die," she laughed coldly, humorlessly, "Was it worth it, _warlock_? Was it all worth it? Giving your life for a thankless king?"

She was too distracted to notice Arthur approach; he was barely three feet behind her now. He locked eyes with Merlin, who grinned, "Yes," the warlock whispered, "It was."

Morgana whirled around just in time for Arthur to sink his blade into her chest, "I _didn't_ abandon him," Arthur growled.

To the king's surprise, Morgana cackled, "I am a high priestess of the old religion," she gasped, "Mortal blades cannot harm me!"

"No," Arthur agreed, "But ones forged in the breath of a dragon can," he withdrew the sword, and watched with a strange mixture of sadness and satisfaction as horror finally dawned on Morgana's face, "I miss my sister," he said quietly, "Perhaps what little of her remains can rest now."

Morgana fell, and Arthur knew she was dead before she hit the ground.

"Come on," he said immediately, helping Merlin to his feet, "We've got to go."

"The horses scattered," Merlin mumbled, "No time."

Sick dread twisted the king's stomach, but he refused to acknowledge it, "Then we will walk."

"No time," Merlin repeated.

"Sure we do," Arthur said, "Let's go."

The pressed on at a steady, but slow pace. Merlin was little more than dead weight now, but Arthur refused to acknowledge the exhaustion urging him to slow down or rest. There was no time. This was for Merlin.

"Almost there," he grunted as he saw, ahead of them, the end of the trees.

Merlin did not respond; Arthur realized he was barely conscious.

"Stay with me, Merlin," he commanded. "We're nearly there. Then you can go back to polishing armor and transforming toads or whatever it is that you warlocks do."

Merlin gave a raspy laugh, but it quickly died away, "There's no time, Arthur," he whispered.

"Sure there is," Arthur said belligerently, "Look…we're at the edge of the trees…." he stopped short. The lake was finally in view, yes, but it was at least a mile away. A small part of him, the part that he now loathed with the uttermost part of his being, sadly agreed that there was no more time.

"We can make it," he grunted.

"Arthur," Merlin breathed, "Put me down. Let me rest."

"No."

"Arthur, _please_."

He could not ignore the pleading in his best friend's voice. Carefully, Arthur laid Merlin down in the grass and sat down beside him, "What do you want me to do?" he asked, unable to stop the tears from welling in his eyes.

"Hold me," Merlin whispered, "Just hold me."

Arthur obeyed, pulling Merlin into his lap and clutching him tight, because he was Uther's son, the soldier, the pragmatist, the one who knew that there was nothing more he could do.

Yet he was also his mother's son, "Don't you dare leave me," he half growled, half sobbed. He forced himself to make a feeble attempt at laughing: "No way you're getting out of polishing my armor when we get home."

Merlin chuckled, "Don't worry," he muttered, "I'll take care of it."

Arthur tried to laugh again, but it transformed into a sob, "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Merlin smiled, "I've never been happier."

"Thank you," Arthur said, rushing to get the words out, "All those things you did. I never said… thank you."

The warlock's smile broadened, "It was an honor," he breathed. Merlin closed his eyes. His limbs went limp. His chest stopped moving. He was…

"No," Arthur breathed, he frantically checked for a pulse, "NO!"

Someone was screaming, sobbing, cursing…at Morgana, at Mordred, at Merlin, at Gaius, at Uther, at Arthur, at the entire world, and it was several minutes before Arthur realized that they were his screams, his tears, his curses tearing into the indifferent sky. They had to be his, because no one else was there.

He descended into another wave of screaming sobs, cradling Merlin to his chest. How long he was there, he never knew. He was only roused when a dark shadow crossed over him and, more importantly, Merlin.

Tenderly laying his best friend's body on the ground, Arthur jumped to his feet, drawing Excalibur as he did so. An enormous _thing_ was in front of them, a great, evil, _thing_ that Arthur vaguely realized he should recognize, but it did not matter.

"Don't you dare touch him," he snarled, pointing his sword at the beast.

"I would never harm him," the dragon sighed in both compassion and chastisement, "No more than you would."

"Then why are you here," Arthur demanded.

"To help," the dragon said, almost softly.

Arthur remembered now. The strange dragon who was, supposedly, Merlin's mentor, his protector. "Then why weren't you here sooner!" the king roared, "You could have gotten us there in a heartbeat!"

"The balance of magic had to be satisfied," the dragon said softly, "You were supposed to die today, but Merlin, your other half, took you place."

"He shouldn't have!" Arthur screamed.

"Yet it was done," the Dragon overrode him, "And Merlin would never have it another way. All that you can do is lay your friend to rest, then go and finish building the world you both dreamed of."

"I don't have anything to bury him with," Arthur said dully, and at that moment, that was the only thing that mattered.

"Climb on my back," the Dragon said, almost tenderly, "I will take you to the place."

It was against every principle his father had instilled in him, every instinct he had come to rely on, but none of that mattered now. Uther was wrong. More than that, it was what Arthur knew Merlin would want. He climbed on the Dragon's back, the great beast tenderly lifted Merlin with his talons, and then they were flying.

In another world, one where Merlin was still alive, Arthur would have felt a mixture of exhilaration and terror as they soared high over the landscape, but now, the rush of the wind and the jolting movements of the great dragon barely registered with the king. His eyes never strayed from his friend. His best friend. The one who was playing this wicked game and pretending he was dead.

They flew for barely more than a minute before the dragon was descending, landing softly before a pristine lake.

"Can we still save him?" Arthur demanded as he jumped off the dragon's back, for he knew this place...they had reached the Lake of Avalon at last. He glanced down at Merlin, the dragon had laid Merlin in the grass in a way that, if Arthur erased his memories of the past two days, he could believe his manservant had just lazed off again.

"No, dear king," the dragon said, "The Waters of Avalon are holy for many reasons. It is here Merlin sent dear friends to the afterlife, and it is here that you must lay him to rest."

"I can't," Arthur whispered, "Without him…I just _can't_."

"Do not grieve, Arthur Pendragon," the dragon said gravely, "You are the Once and Future King. You will create the land both you and Merlin dreamed of, and long after you have left this Earth, when Avalon's need is greatest, you will rise again from these waters, and Merlin will rise with you, for the two sides of a coin cannot be divided. Farewell, great king." With a last, solemn glance at Merlin's still form, the dragon took to the air. Within a few seconds, he had vanished from sight.

For several seconds that may have been several years, Arthur neither moved nor spoke. Finally, some deep, buried instinct took hold and his limbs seemed to move without his brain instructing them to. He simply acted, gathering branches and leaves and flowers, weaving them into a small raft. He tenderly laid his best friend in the middle of the branches and leaves, arranging his clothes and limbs in a respectful position. Finally, with an enormous shove and an even stronger sob, Arthur launched the boat into the lake. He watched it drift sedately, guided by some unseen current, towards the center of the water, until he could not bear the sight anymore.

Arthur turned and slowly walked away, each step a savage reminder that he was moving farther and farther away from his brother, his comrade, his best friend.

He only looked back once, a few dozen meters from the edge of the water. The boat was gone. Instead, he saw the stooped figure of an old man in a long, red robe, chest deep in water, walking towards the center of the lake. As if he could feel Arthur's eyes on him, the old man turned and shot the king a familiar, cheeky smile. Then Arthur blinked, and the old man was gone without leaving even a ripple in the water.


	5. Chapter 5

_**And here is the conclusion. Enjoy.**_

_**Sire-when (sorry the site keeps changing the spelling of your username): Thanks so much for your comment! Hopefully this chapter makes is slightly less sad.**_

_**Ruby 890: As always, I love hearing your thoughts. I actually came up with this idea immediately after watching the finale, because I think in many ways it's less sad...**_

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><p>He still half-expected his lazy, lying, loyal, magical manservant to appear around any corner, to barge into his room at some indecent hour of the morning and shout with an overly-cheerful smile, "Rise and shine sleepy-head!" At first, Arthur had even shouted for his manservant, furious that the lazy idiot had skipped out on work <em>again. <em>Merlin never came.

Everything since his return to Camelot was a blur, a raging torrent of disjointed, pointless memories of people and objects and places, so many things that clamored for his attention. Arthur could not understand why no one realized that none of it _mattered_ any more.

Gwen was the only real thing in all the world, and Arthur clung to her: holding her close to him at night, always gripping her hand for dear life, and, on those few instances when they were more than a few feet apart, following her with his eyes just to make sure that she was actually there. Only two people on the entire Earth had ever truly understood him. He lost Merlin; he would never lose her.

The Queen was ruling the kingdom alone now, and while Arthur hated himself for his weakness, he could not break the debilitating cycle of guilt and pain. He would sit in the council meetings, the words of the knights and advisors washing over him like so many waves. Gwen would sit beside him, always attentive, always a step ahead: asking questions, proposing ideas, issuing commands. Then, at night when they were alone, she would hold him in bed and whisper the day's events in his ear. He would nod, and sometimes make suggestions or give orders of his own, because he was able to listen when Gwen was speaking. When the decisions were made, they would hold each other close, and Gwen would tell him how much she loved him, but that he needed to move on, that Merlin would never want to see him like this, that the only way to honor his best friend was to build the kingdom they had both dreamed of, to be the king he had been when he had strode into the council chamber just after he had returned from the lake and declared in thunderous tones that magic was no longer outlawed in Camelot, that the land was now a friend and a refuge to druids and sorcerers forever more.

"And they're coming," Gwen would say, "They're coming and Camelot is blooming like we never dreamed, but it cannot reach its full potential without its king." The words helped, but only a little, and in the morning any sense of strength, of healing, Gwen had given him the previous night would be gone again.

He had a new servant. At first he had adamantly refused hiring a new one, because that meant he was replacing him, forgetting _him_, and it had taken several nights for Gwen to finally convince the king that yes, it must be done.

Arthur had finally settled on George. The servant had, if possible, grown duller with age, which made him ideal. George had quickly learned that his main duty was to be invisible, to tend to the king's needs without Arthur ever realizing that he was there. He performed the task impeccably.

Four weeks. The words bounced painfully around the king's head as he slowly pulled himself out of bed…alone. Gwen was out riding; Arthur knew she was trying to force him to regain some of the independence he had lost on that horrific day. This knowledge did not help. He threw on a linen shirt and some trousers without paying much attention to if they were on properly. He frowned as his fingers fumbled over the buttons. There was something he was supposed to do today…

Training. That's right. A flicker of a smile danced over his face. He still enjoyed training. If he fought with all his might, if he exhausted himself to such a point that he could barely _see_, much lessmove, he might be able to forget, if only for a moment. Forget where he was and who he was and why every step seemed like a painful, pointless effort.

With this in mind, Arthur spun around, looking for his armor, and found it arranged pristinely on a chair next to the wardrobe. Frowning, he bent forward to examine the gleaming shield and sparkling chainmail more closely. It was clear everything had been polished, and polished within the past few hours.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the inhuman efficiency of his servant. They had been entertaining guests the previous night and no one had gone to bed until at least three in the morning, yet his servant had still managed to find time to polish his armor within the past eight hours. He would have thought George, too, had magic, if the king were not certain magic could never reside in someone so dull.

"GEORGE!" he roared. The servant appeared within seconds with a polite, "Yes, Sire?"

"Help me with my armor," Arthur said without looking him in the eye.

"Of course, sire," George said. He bobbed over, helping Arthur pull on his chainmail and armor. Neither spoke, as usual. While George worked, Arthur's thoughts wandered back to Gwen; she had told him last night that he needed to interact with others more. This seemed a relatively painless opportunity to do so, and he always listened to Gwen.

"There was no need for you to polish my armor last night," he said, still not looking George in the eye. There. Surely, that counted.

The servant's fingers paused over the last of the straps, "I didn't, Sire," he said blankly.

Arthur rolled his eyes: "I'm not going to _punish_ you, but there's no need to overwork yourself."

"Sire," George said hesitantly, finishing with the last of the straps and straightening up, "I did not polish your armor last night; I have never polished your armor. I have often gone to do it, but it never needed doing. I thought Your Majesty did it as a way to unwind."

"What? Of course I didn't. Merlin always…" Arthur stopped short. Unbidden, words that had been whispered four weeks ago filled his ears, as clear as if he were hearing them for the first time.

_"No way you're getting out of polishing my armor when we get home."_

_ "Don't worry. I'll take care of it."_

"You're dismissed," Arthur said curtly, and thankfully, George did not object. Arthur was vaguely aware of the door clicking shut as he turned and examined himself in the mirror, stroking the shining armor with a trembling hand.

Tears came, his first tears since the lake, but these ones were different: hot, thick, and slow. They healed, rather than maimed. Arthur could practically _see_ his manservant rolling his eyes in exasperation.

_See, I told you I'd take care of it, you clotpole._

Arthur turned away to the mirror and looked out the window, watching as the sun rose over Camelot's already-bustling streets. For the first time in four weeks, Arthur remembered how much he loved that city, that land...how they both had dreamt and talked of the day when their beloved home would be united and glorified.

"My name," he declared to the rising sun, "Is Arthur Pendragon. I am the Once and Future King of Camelot. Guinevere is my wife, and we will unite Albion and make it a land of freedom and prosperity."

He paused as another tear slid slowly down his face.

"And Merlin is, and always will be, my best friend."

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><p><strong><em>Once again, thank you so much for reading. As always, I love to hear your thoughts.<em>**


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